


Only You

by Lori_S21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 10:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13856049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lori_S21/pseuds/Lori_S21
Summary: Tonight was a time for celebration at the Hilltop, the joy of new life in the world. A time for socialising, handling your drink and trying not to stare at Paul 'Jesus' Rovia too much.Daryl Dixon was failing at all of those things.





	Only You

**Author's Note:**

> **Just a little slice of drunken fun and flirty happiness for Jesus and Daryl. Don't they deserve that?!**  
>   
> 
> **Can be read as a standalone or a sequel to my other fic, 'Future Starts Slow.' Your pick.**
> 
> **Feedback is always appreciated. And if you'd like to check out my other work, please note the rating change!**
> 
> **Enjoy...**

_Damn,_ Hilltop cider was strong.

If the world ever got up and running again, they could bottle it and put that on a label, Daryl decided. He would never admit the little farming colony had successfully managed to brew a beverage capable of making his cheeks flush pink and his eyes roll a little. His face felt as though it could melt ice if they had any. Didn’t matter. It was dark in the Hilltop courtyard, no one would notice. 

Daryl Dixon doesn’t get drunk, even at celebratory feasts in honour of Maggie’s little one successfully coming into the world. There had been so little to celebrate the past few years, and if he felt a little teary eyed at the sight of the pink, wriggly, scrunch-faced baby snuggling into his weary but joyful mama’s arms, well. That was another thing he was keeping to himself.

Like the other good thing in his life. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but they were private, discreet. It was nothing to be ashamed of, he just liked it that way. Liked having something of his own to fiercely guard as it grows into…whatever. It was unlikely to stay between the two of them much longer, Daryl thought. With every pull from his cup, his eyes kept straying over to the other end of table and fixing on a certain Paul ‘Jesus’ Rovia.

Daryl noticed Paul was looking slightly ‘merry’ under the stars himself, glass in hand, cider doing its work. Skin softly illuminated by candlelight, there was something almost magic about tonight, the floating lanterns and pastel-coloured balloons strung up by Enid in honour of their new arrival. Everyone was feasting and talking, gathering around Maggie and the little one as they took a lap of honour. Everyone wanted a cuddle with the new human it would seem. There was so much of Glenn in him it made his heart ache. But tonight was a time for celebration. There was a warm, peaceful feeling in the atmosphere, air humming with pleasant conversation.

It was getting warmer, every time Daryl looked at Paul in fact. He attempted to focus on the conversation that nurse Alex trying to engage him with in vain, giving curt nods and grunts in response and hoping it would do. But as this was pretty standard Daryl behaviour, the nurse didn’t seem to notice anything amiss (or was too polite to say so).

Paul was luminous in the candlelight, skin glowing, enhanced by the white cotton of his shirt. His hair looked soft and smooth, neatly falling over his shoulders. He laughed at an anecdote someone was telling him, eyes crinkling at the corners. Daryl barely noticed who was making him look like that, though he is grateful for the sight, the long line of his neck as he throws his head back. Over and over, his gaze kept straying to the man opposite, to the way his eyes catch the light. He couldn’t see them from such a distance, shadows playing over the angles of Paul’s perfect face, but he knows in this light they will still be achingly beautiful.

He wants to see them quite badly.

Daryl took another slug of his drink.

“Good stuff isn’t it?” Alex stated hesitantly, causing Daryl to grunt a noncommittal answer, hoping he’d take the hint and leave him to his thoughts.

Paul was now talking quite animatedly, hands gesturing to get his point across. Daryl couldn't hear what he was saying, but he seemed to be quite emphatic, possibly repeating himself as was his custom after a few drinks. It’s not cute at all, Daryl stubbornly thought. _It ain’t._

And suddenly, Paul turned his way as though sensing Daryl’s heated gaze. The hunter immediately tried to school his expression into its usual stoic mask after realising he was smiling a bit soppily in reaction to Paul’s nerdy gesticulating. But Paul had already seen.

The smile Paul gave him was warm and genuine, lighting up his features and Daryl couldn’t help but wonder if it makes anyone else’s heart leap and stumble the way his always does. Paul’s eyes were sparkling in the candlelight and Daryl was caught. He couldn't help but smirk back as Paul raised a shapely brow at him: _What are you staring at, Dixon?_

He focused, trying to wordlessly express just what he was seeing and how it it was making him feel; heated, excited, this daft, warm glow that he struggled to put a label on because it was so unfamiliar: _happy._

Their eyes locked and it was as if a current was running between them. Daryl was surprised no one else could feel it. Something darkened thrillingly in Paul’s expression as he wetted his lips subconsciously. Daryl tightened his grip on his cup, and Paul’s smile turned a little smug in response. Daryl’s breathing began to grow more heavy as he took in the sight of the other man.

“Ah oh I see. Right. I didn’t - never mind…” He could hear Alex’s voice trail off as he backed away causing Daryl to realise he had been trying to talk to him the entire time, just background noise. He dragged his gaze away from Paul and noticed that the younger man seemed to be looking between the two of them, expression somewhat confused. It’s surprising how little he cared. Paul seemed to be thinking the same thing, sparing the retreating Alex a glance before returning his attention back to Daryl with a subtle shrug, _whoops._

Another Hilltop member brushed past Daryl, stumbling into him a little. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one finding the refreshments a little too refreshing. The stranger slurred an apology leaving Daryl to turn his attentions firmly back on Paul, temporary distraction already forgotten, only to notice the other man was back chatting to his companion again. Some older lady from Hilltop who does the laundry and has a particular soft spot for the scout and the way he’d bring her back any requests from his runs She was fond of him in a grandmotherly way, not a barking-up-the-wrong-tree kind of way, Daryl was almost certain.

Paul seemed to be deeply absorbed in whatever tale she was sharing, but Daryl wasn’t fooled. He contented himself with leaning on the table and waiting, catching the way Paul’s eyes flickered over to him every so often. He eyed up Paul’s body, craving his warmth, his clever touches, watching the way his elegant hands moved through the air. Paul was sneaking glances at him, watching Daryl watching him. Daryl had to fight down another smirk, keeping his expression neutral and only just falling short.

Just when he was on he verge of barging over there, Paul decided then was a good time to stretch whilst decidedly not looking at Daryl. His whole body arched gracefully, going taut, shirt slipping up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of the pale skin of his hips. Daryl knows how perfectly the smooth angles of his pelvis fit into his rough hands, how it makes Paul shiver. Images danced in his mind, trailing breathy kisses over the vulnerable flesh, tender and gentle, taking his time. To the rushed, frantic times; gripping from behind, roughly bending him over, exposed, making Daryl’s insides drip with heat, before lining up, dragging his body back and pushing in, hard and graceless but so damn perfect… Daryl shook his head, cursing the effect the other man had over him with so little effort. Paul got him good.

He wondered if Laundry Lady could detect that slight naughtiness creeping into Paul’s gentlemanly smile. He sincerely hoped she didn't think it’s for her. Maybe only he could see it, since it’s for him after all. When Paul glanced over at him once more, Daryl doesn’t think the brief wink is his imagination. He knew the effect he was having on Daryl. He bit his lip and wondered what to do next. Going over there and dragging the pretty boy away by the collar like a caveman clearly wasn’t an option… Was it?

Fortunately, Paul made the decision for him. One moment he’s giving his companion a friendly pat on the arm, then he's making his way over to Maggie, the baby and their many admirers. Daryl narrowed his eyes as he sees the two exchange words, noting the way Paul leaned down to give her a light kiss on the cheek, hair swinging forward. Definitely a goodbye kiss.

He drained the rest of his drink as he watched Paul extract himself from another social situation. It seemed to take a while, as it always did. Everybody loved ‘Jesus.’ His calm and kind demeanour, the way nothing is ever too much trouble for him. His soothing presence that draws you in, helps to bond the community in a way the man himself never even realises. He is all those things and more. They don't see the way he teases Daryl, how clever he can be when he wants something, his playful side. That wicked sense of humour that comes out of him sometimes, driving Daryl up the wall. Rick maybe had a glimpse, the day they first met. Neither of them ever forgot it (Daryl spared a thought for Rick, missing him and Michonne with a pang. They would visit soon. Maybe seeing Maggie with her new son would be hard on them at first, but he knew they would be happy for her, disappointed they had missed this).

He watched closely as Paul walked away, eyes tracking him as he headed, strangely enough, in the opposite direction of his trailer. Eventually, curiosity managed to win out over the need to be discreet. Daryl slipped away with much less of a fanfare than Paul - he’s not exactly Mr Sociable these days, or ever really - but he makes sure he doesn’t meet Alex’s eyes. He spared a wave for Maggie and tried not to overanalyse her almost smug expression. He’s pretty sure she knows about him and Paul. If she does, she looks pretty pleased about it. He rolled his eyes at her and set off after Paul.

Tracking Paul was easy because he has made it so. Heavy imprints in the grass which Paul never usually leaves, so light on his feet even after a drink or two. He even found a dropped handkerchief, a square of white on the dark grass, one of the types he uses to hide his face on runs. Daryl bent over to pick it up, studying it in the moonlight before thoughtlessly jamming it into his back pocket.

He wasn’t so light on his feet after a couple of ‘refreshing beverages,’ ( _what the hell’d they put in that stuff - magic mushrooms?!_ ) but just knows that Paul has been deliberately clumsy. A weed with a snapped stem, obviously broken by hand, leads him around to the side of Barrington House. It was dark there, more private, secluded, but there was no mistaking the form casually leaning against the grey stone wall.

Daryl said nothing, merely slowed his approach, savouring the sight of Paul waiting for him, making his footsteps deliberately heavy. He could just about make out the curve of those lips, wearing a small, triumphant smile meant only for him to see. When he was close enough, he leaned in as far as he could without touching, caging the smaller man between his arms, peering down at him, bearing down. He moved his face as close as he comfortably could considering how much shorter Paul was, swimming in those eyes, the way they glittered in the dark, taking him in. He always appreciated the height difference, how he could manhandle Paul, could wrap him in his arms, but only because he let him, which was a thrilling thought. Little ninja was _tough._ He breathed in deeply, trying to steady his heart, the stuttering feeling seemingly spreading to his whole body, like a racehorse waiting to bolt. Each breath carried the scent of him, clean hair, warm salt skin. He could hear, _feel_ Paul’s warm breath against his throat, causing him to shiver pleasantly.

“Found you,” Daryl rumbled, feeling stupid, not only drunk on liquor. 

“Clever boy.” Paul’s answer was instant and flirtatious, voice pitched much lower than usual in a way that made Daryl warm all over. He leaned down, resting his head against Paul’s, needing the contact yet trying to remain in control. He closed his eyes, feeling with his other senses. Sometimes he can’t believe he has this. He actually gets to have this.

“Y’know your place is empty…” The words came out quite slurred, and he was grateful for the darkness for surely his cheeks would be aflame. He couldn't care less how that sounded, the edge of desperation threading throughout his suggestion. He wanted Paul. That couldn’t be brand new information to the younger man. He had followed him here, followed his trail. 

Paul hummed thoughtfully, shifting a little closer. “Yeah, but I wanted you out here.”

He legs felt a little weak at that, but he was determined Paul wasn’t going to make him swoon. Whilst he tried to figure out what the hell that one meant, he crowded in closer before lightly rubbing his face against Paul’s, nuzzling his temple. In response, slowly as if in a dream, Paul’s hands made their way to his waist, warmth slipping through rough cotton causing him to sigh ( _not whine,_ his mind insisted). His exhale ruffled Paul’s hair. He’s drowning in him; his touch, his scent. His palms were still resting against the rough grain of the house, sliding against the chalk texture. He pulled back the necessary inches to meet the glinting darkness of Paul’s eyes. Their breaths were suspended as they took each other in for the longest moment. This was not uncommon. Daryl often felt he needed a moment for his mind to catch up with his body. It’s what made him such a good fighter. Instinct and trusting your own body to show you what to do. Hopefully this talent was transferable, making him skilled in other areas. Paul had never complained. 

In a cruel, fucked up, brutal world, this right here was his miracle.

“Were you having fun tonight?” Paul teased, mouth still curved in a small smile. Daryl wanted to trace the lines so he did, still leaning on one arm, but bringing the other to Paul’s face. He trailed his thumb over his brow, to the elegant curve of his eye socket, along his cheek bone, before tracing the contour above the corner of his mouth, visualising his smile though touch alone. Paul’s hands clenched against his waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush. Daryl grunted, but resumed mapping his face, fingers trailing over rough hair to his plush lips until Paul was kissing his fingertips, lipping at them with a slight hint of tongue. The damp heat left Daryl torn between jamming his fingers in that mouth for him to suck on, or crushing him against the wall with a desperate kiss. It was quite an achievement on Paul’s behalf.

He cupped his jaw, facial hair rasping as he angled Paul’s face up so he could examine him in the dark.

“Gonna.” He finally answered with a promise in his voice, rough and just a little breathy. He could see the exact moment Paul’s confused mind realised that was the answer to his last question, saw that small smile develop into a delighted grin.

“Daryl!” He cried in scandalised delight and that was all he could get out before Daryl was pressing him against the wall, kissing him hard. It was either that or roll his eyes in exasperation. He ran his tongue over Paul’s lower lip, tasting faint traces of apple cider. Paul mouthed at him hungrily, finding a smooth rhythm, guiding them as always and managing to make Daryl’s legs buckle in the process. His hands found all that tempting hair and used it to hold him close, carding his fingers through it, playing with the sensitive strands at his nape, exactly how Paul liked it. 

Paul’s hands slid down to Daryl’s ass, palming it, dragging him closer so they could be completely flush, body to body. One of Paul’s hands slipped into his back pocket, squeezing as their mouths moved hungrily. it made Daryl’s brain short circuit until he felt the exact moment Paul liberated the handkerchief from its confines. He laughed into the kiss and pulled back those few vital inches.

“Pickpocketing, really?” He growled out, amusement spoiling the effect.

“Technically mine,” Paul replied, voice smooth and feigning innocence. He waggled the confiscated cloth in front of Daryl’s face like a triumphant magician before shoving it in his front pocket.

“Dork,” Daryl grumbled fondly, hauling him closer by the hips with ease, crowding him against the building, shielding him from view. Paul made a pleased noise in his throat as Daryl just held him, face mere inches away.

His hair looked tangled and Daryl knew those lips would be a swollen red. He could feel other parts of Paul that were swollen and could definitely sympathise.

He ground his whole body in one slow drag against Paul’s, capturing his resultant moan with a kiss. They needed to be quiet.

“Daryl…” His name sounded like a sigh, the way it did when Paul was really wound up in the good sense. Paul’s arms were around Daryl’s shoulders now, clenching in a way that practically had Daryl purring. And when the flat of Daryl’s hand found its way to the front of Paul’s jeans, he pressed all too willingly into the tempting friction of it. “Ah… We shouldn’t.”

Even as he said the words his hips surged forwards of their own volition. Daryl crowded him into the wall, trapping him. Even as he did so he knew they would have to stop. They weren’t voyeurs, alcohol or no alcohol. But admittedly, the idea of being caught out in the open like this was in equal parts strangely thrilling, liberating and mortifying. 

Paul seemed to be on the same page. “Can’t do this out here,” He groaned, even as he pushed his hips against Daryl’s, causing him to stifle his own moan. “Maggie would shoot us.”

Daryl genuinely debated for one moment whether it was worth the risk before common sense won over. There were young ‘uns at that party. Didn't want anyone catching them in a compromising position. Wouldn’t be right no matter how good it felt. 

He stepped back a couple of inches, looping his arms around Paul’s slim waist, keeping their hips at a socially acceptable distance. Paul’s hands found their way to Daryl’s tangled hair, gently pushing it back, angling his face so he could meet his eyes. Paul rubbed his fingertips tenderly against Daryl’s temples and he sighed with how good it feels.

“You doing okay in there?” He tilted his head to one side in that adorably familiar way and Daryl just knows he wasn’t not referring to this sexual encounter. He meant tonight. Celebrating after all they’ve been through, all that has been lost. He means their relationship. He means the current situation at Hilltop.

He means _I care about you, Daryl. I care about you a lot._

To which Daryl could only smile, nodding once before resting his head against Paul’s, taking in shuddery breaths.

“Just don’t make me go back there.” He moaned, smiling to show he was only half serious.

“Why not?” He could hear the good humour in Paul’s teasing tone. They were beginning to stumble in the direction of Paul’s trailer now, still embracing like the drunken, admittedly lovelorn idiots they were. Enjoying the closeness, the simmering warmth, the unspoken promise of more touch once they were somewhere private.

“People wanna talk to me.” Daryl answered, nuzzling Paul’s hair, voice cracking with self pity.

That earned a surprised laugh from Paul. Daryl relished the sound. “Absolutely horrifying - I won’t stand for it!” He punched Paul lightly on the arm. “Ow!”

“Only wanna talk to you, you brat,” He stated, trying to make it jokey but he hoped Paul knows. Hoped he could hear the sincerity. _There is you. There is only you now._

Paul managed to untangle himself from Daryl’s slightly clingy embrace, just long enough to look into his eyes as he twines their fingers together. A few more party goers passed them by with a couple of waves that the two men return with a nod or two, eyes only for each other. “Let’s go home.” He leaned up on his tiptoes to give Daryl’s cheek a brief kiss. Even an act that chaste had the power to make Daryl's heart stumble hopefully. “I can protect you from polite society,” Paul added. “Or maybe protect polite society from you…? I’m not so sure - sorry! Aah _Daryl!_ ”

Paul obviously hadn’t been expecting it. Any passers by would barely believe the sight and would surely draw their own obvious conclusions. But Daryl couldn't care less. He flung Paul over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and Paul was obviously letting him, doubled over with tipsy laughter and mournful protests. Daryl would be flat on his back if Paul wanted to escape, but seemed more than happy to let Daryl drag him back to their trailer. 

As for any spectators, he could blame it on the cider. It was strong after all.


End file.
